Date: Mon, 23 Dec 2002 06:15:18 -0500
From: Taylor Siluwe <taylorsiluwe@earthlink.net>
Subject: "Grandma's Hands"  Part 3

     "Grandma's Hands"
      Copyright 2001 by Taylor Siluwe

      Part Three

      It was a strange dream, one that would confuse a Saint. His
grandmother was sitting on his chest holding a steaming pot of stew.
      "Eat!" she barked, in a very un-grandmotherly way, and shoved
spoonful after spoonful into his mouth.
      Sonny wanted to tell her to stop, but whenever he opened his mouth,
more food was shoveled in. He gagged and tried to get up, but the old woman
outweighed him by at least two hundred pounds, so his efforts were futile
bordering on ridiculous. But he continued to struggle, and she continued to
feed, pouring the contents of the pot directly into his mouth now, as he
gurgled and spit.
      Sonny managed to clear his mouth long enough to shout, "I don't want
anymore!"
      The old woman was unstoppable. "Eat, eat eeeeat! Ya have to eat to
think clearly ... listen ta ya gran'ma, boy!" She seemed to be obsessed
with increasing his caloric intake for some odd reason. When the stew
finally ran out, she even tried to force the pot into his mouth. Oblivious
to the impossibility of the feat, her face trembled with rage and spit flew
from her lips as she pressed down on the pot, trying to force it into
Sonny's quivering orifice. Enraged that it wouldn't fit, she bared her
dentures in a way that was partly feral and somewhat dilapidated; like an
aged predator fueled by fear and desperation. The old set of teeth slipped
a little as a result of her fury, and cocked slightly to the right, making
them even more innocuous. Then she raised the pot over her head with arms
that jiggled the way that only a grandmother's arms can, and screamed, "I
said eat, boy!" And with an anger that must have come from hell, she
brought it down, intending to shove it down his throat through the use of
brute force.
      She never got the chance though, because at that moment he awoke,
feeling sweaty and nauseated. He also felt a bit confused and wiped at his
mouth expecting to find chunks of stew. But it was gone, though the aroma
was not.
      Sonny sat up on the sofa and sniffed the air. The mouth-watering
scent of food was heavy on it. Then he noticed a slight crackling sound,
like something was being fried.
      It was coming from the kitchen. There was also something else coming
from there, another sound.
      Whistling.
      Someone was in his kitchen frying chicken and whistling. The oddity
of the situation struck him. Grandpa never got out of the chair, except to
pee, and even that short journey was daunting to him. Sonny could not
remember when he had last seen him in the kitchen, let alone cooking
anything. The preparation of meals was his responsibility and had been
since grandma died. No one cooked in the kitchen, except Sonny.
      The contented whistle sounds floated into the living room and washed
over the once again frightened Sonny. His grandpa still had not returned;
the chair sat there abandoned and lonely against the backdrop of the
setting sun. And the walker was there too, reflecting the orange light on
its chrome handle.
      Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe grandpa suddenly had a burst of
energy that sent him into the kitchen without the aid of his walker. It
seemed impossible though, the old dude could barely stand up with the
support of the geriatric device, and therefore it was unlikely that he was
now standing in front of the stove, frying chicken and whistling a tune
without it.
      But someone was. Mustering all the courage that he could, he wiped
the sleep from his eyes and strolled into the kitchen. He half-expected to
see his grandmother standing there holding that wicked pot of stew, but as
his eyes adjusted to the bare 100 watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling,
he saw someone else.
      "Hey, Sonny Boy," the man/boy greeted him with that same hysterically
happy smile, " ... are you feelin' better?" He rearranged the chicken parts
in the sizzling oil. "You passed-out you know." The aroma made Sonny's
stomach gurgle. "Do you pass-out a lot?"
      "No I don't pass-out a ... wait a minute, who the hell are you, and
why are you in our kitchen?" Sonny glanced around the room looking for a
large object that he could use to bludgeon the intruder if need be. The
audacity of the stranger was overwhelming. Then an answer to his question
arrived in his mind with a thud so heavy that his fear again turned to
rage. He heard the voice in his head say, `I'm ya gran'pa, boy!'
      Gran'pa?
      This crazy fool must have done something to his grandfather, he
concluded, ... but what?
      Sonny opened a drawer and retrieved an old steak knife. He pointed
the dull weapon at the man/boy and said, "You're gonna tell me what you did
with my gran'pa, or I swear um gonna fuckin' kill you!"
      The hot grease suddenly popped, stinging the man/boy's bare
chest. "Shit, Lord hav' mercy," he muttered, completely ignoring Sonny's
bold threat for a moment. Then he glanced over at him and focused his wise
eyes on Sonny's adorable young face. It was like looking into a mirror. As
their eyes locked, Sonny's stomach gurgled again.
      "Put that knife down, boy. You ain't gon' kill nobody. Hush up and
reach over the fridge and get me that big red bowl ya gran'ma use to drain
the chicken in. And hurry up, I think it's ready. I haven't been able to
eat fried chicken in years"
      Sonny was speechless. He also felt that he needed to sit down before
he passed-out again. Fainting was so unmanly. But he couldn't move; he just
stood there with the knife still pointing straight ahead like a statue of a
charging soldier. His mind could not compute what was going on. How could
this stranger know anything about his grandmother?
      `I'm ya grandpa, boy!'
      The man/boy smiled a sympathetic smile and took the knife from
him. Sonny did not resist. He then guided him to a chair, for it was
obvious that he needed one.
      After he retrieved the bowl and began putting sizzling pieces of meat
into it, he spoke in a most soothing voice, "Listen boy, I know this is
weird for you. It's weird for me too, but this here's the deal. I am your
gran'pa. It's true, ask me anything."
      "I'm callin' the police," Sonny stated, though he didn't move a
muscle.
      "I've been callin' you `Sonny Boy' since the day you was born(
`xactly seventeen years and six months ago on the first. Am I right?" He
smiled knowingly.
      Sonny's brain still could not compute what was happening. It felt
like it was on the verge of short-circuiting. "That's, ... that's
impossible," was all he managed to say before falling silent again.
      The man/boy sat down across from him and took his
hand. Uncharacteristically, Sonny did not resist the gesture. He allowed
himself to be touched by the strange young man who was claiming to be his
grandfather. He was in a daze.
      "Look at my face, boy. Look at my face and tell me that you don't
recognize anything about me."
      Silence.
      "Okay, there's an old photo book under the couch wit' some black and
white pictures of me as a boy. Go fetch it."
      More silence.
      "Never mind, I'll get it."
      He quickly returned with the dusty old album. Placing it on the table
before his dazed grandson, he pointed his finger at an old gray
photo. Sonny's eyes floated down to the picture slowly as if he were in a
dream. They followed the finger and froze on the picture.
      There he was, standing in front of a tiny house that had an old
southern look to it. It was him, ... the stranger! Sonny's head snapped
back and forth between the picture and the face that hovered over him. It
was undoubtedly the same person, though the eyes were slightly different in
the photo. The ones that focused on him now were a lot less innocent, and
much more powerful.
      His fear got the best of him and he tore out of the room. His young
limbs were in a panic as he dashed from the kitchen, knocking over various
objects in the process. He couldn't think and he didn't know where he was
going, but he was on his way.
      "Sonny!" Ezekiel shouted, as he pursued him. He caught up with his
fleeing grandson just as he was opening the front door to complete his
escape. Ezekiel hit the door with such force that it slammed shut again
with a thunderous bang. "You ain't goin' nowhere, boy, until I can convince
you that this is..."
      Sonny swung a fist at Ezekiel's head with all his might, while
uttering a savage scream. Ezekiel cocked his head slightly, easily dodging
the blow, which crashed into the wall. The dry-rotted plaster caved in as
Sonny screamed again, ... this time in pain.
      "Don't make me hurt you, boy!" Ezekiel threatened. He grabbed the
back of Sonny's neck with one hand and pinched a nerve, effectively
immobilizing the rambunctious teen with more pain.
      "Aaaahhh ...!"
      "Is you gonna calm down?"
      "Aaaahhh, ... yes!" he shouted through the crippling pain that shot
up and down his spine.
      "And you gonna gimme a chance to explain, right?"
      "Yeah, yeah, ... aaaahhh! Stop it, it hurts, it HURTS!
      Ezekiel let him go, pushing him toward the center of the room, away
from the door. Sonny stood there, whimpering inwardly like a chastened
puppy. But there was danger in his eyes. Ezekiel was confused as to how to
explain this all away, but he did know that he could not let the boy call
the police. What would they think about two teenage boys living alone
without any supervision?
      "Listen ta me, boy, and listen good," Ezekiel held up his thumb, "
... when I was in the service I learned forty different ways to kill a man
with this here finger. Now I'm not threatening you, son, but I see's that
look ya got in ya eyes, like ya gonna do something," he moved closer, "
... don't do it, boy, ya can't win. I knows whatcha' gonna do before you
think it. Now sit ya ass down, and let me try to explain."
      Sonny wisely complied. There was something in Ezekiel's tone that did
not invite defiance. As darkness fell, the two boys sat together. Sonny
listened quietly, but inside he screamed. He cried for the crippled old man
who had left him ... like his parents had and grandma too. They were all
gone now, and he was left alone with this young stranger ... who did seem
to have his face.
      *
      He tried like the devil, though he lacked the same hellish drive. No
matter how much evidence he presented to his disbelieving grandson, the lad
remained unconvinced( his eyes retaining their murderous gleam. Ezekiel
realized the futility of his efforts. The boy would never believe what had
just happened( never. His own mind was having difficulty accepting this
more than strange phenomena. This was Twilight Zone shit, he thought. How
do you explain ... what you don't understand?
      Amidst his own confusion, an understandable euphoria had wrapped
itself around Ezekiel. He found it impossible to remain seated, as he paced
around the room testing his flawless limbs. Gone was the weakness, which
had kept him confined to that musty old chair. Also gone was the atrophied
appearance of his muscles, which now rippled deliciously with youth. In
spite of the oddity of the situation, and the homicidal stares he was
receiving from his grandson, he felt like screaming at the top of his lungs
with joy. He knew that Sonny was obviously terrified by it all, waiting for
the right moment to pounce and escape. After all, he had just been told
that his grandfather had somehow been whizzed back in time sixty some-odd
years and was now this strapping seventeen year-old ex-marine. Lots of room
for doubt there. Certainly the boy was just biding his time, wisely heeding
the warning that he had received. He would eventually try to escape though;
Ezekiel knew that he could not let that happen. Not until he had a chance
to figure this all out. As all those thoughts stumbled over one another in
his mind, he kept one eye on his calculating grandson; ready to thwart
anything he could come up with. But the other eye, and his soul, was
drowning in pleasure.
      No one in the world could understand, since it was so unlikely that
this had ever happened before. Ezekiel Sinclair, who only a couple of hours
ago was a feeble and impotent old man, now felt as if he could fuck an
elephant. Not only fuck it, but he could also run it down and wrestle it
into submission first! Was this the purpose that the ghostly Rachel had
alluded to?
      `I come ta give ya whatcha been cravin'.'
      His arms trembled. But not with years this time; the muscles were
overwhelmed by their own vigor; they vibrated with glee. He felt high and
uncontrollably giddy. This gift that he had received rushed about his body,
tickling it like a tornado of feathers. He could not contain his delight.
      Sonny sat quietly dumbfounded on the sofa, watching as Ezekiel
mumbled to himself and giggled intermittently. It was an unsettling sight
for the boy ... one that filled him with a rage of confusion. A part of him
wanted to attack the visitor; pummel him until he confessed the truth about
who he was. There was another part though, a rational and calculating
segment of his brain, that had heard all the evidence. He had assembled all
the pieces of this enigma, and the picture was crystal clear ... though
quite ludicrous.
      This was no psycho stranger. He knew things that only his grandfather
would know. He had gone on and on telling Sonny stuff that no stranger
could ever know. It was all so crazy, and yet, he was beginning to feel a
certain bond with the boy, Ezekiel. As he looked into the face( the one
that he had also seen in the old family album( fact waged a war with
science fiction in his mind.
      Had grandma come back and restored his youth like he said? Sonny had
seen the apparition before, therefore was inclined to believe that it might
be true. But how, and why? Why would she do it?
      "You believe me, don'tcha?" Ezekiel said, " ... I can see it in ya
eyes, you do believe me, don'tcha?"
      "I don't know."
      "Sure ya do," Ezekiel rushed over and sat next to him again, "
... somethin' just crossed ya mind( somethin' that told ya that all this
must be true. What was it?"
      Sonny looked over at his handsome young grandfather with a tear
dancing in his eye. "I don't know what you're talking about." His stomach
was cringing again, the way it had the day he looked up and saw his dead
grandmother in the window. He desperately wanted to wake up from this
dream.
      Ezekiel's penetrating stare pierced his pain; "You saw her,
didn'tcha?"
      Sonny knew who he was talking about, but was too choked up to speak.
      "I know it's crazy, Sonny Boy, but ya have to tell me. You saw her,
... didn'tcha?
      Slowly, Sonny nodded his head, toppling the tear, which went
streaming down his cheek. It felt good almost, like a painful gas bubble
that had seeped free, his internal pressure was diminished. He could speak.
      "Yeah," he whispered, " ... I, ... saw, ... her." The tears flowed
freely now, and the display of emotion was heart wrenching to Ezekiel
because Sonny never cried. In all the boy's years of life, Ezekiel had
never seen him cry ... until now. His grandmother's gift had apparently
been too much for the lad to take; something beneath his street-wise
demeanor rushed to the surface and cracked it wide open. Sonny was young,
and now he looked the part.
      Ezekiel reached out to him, extending the most youthful arms to ever
be guided by a seasoned octogenarian mind. But Sonny cringed visibly at the
touch, and his emotional outburst ended. Like a faucet being turned off,
the tears suddenly stopped. His gruff exterior had repaired itself and he
glared at Ezekiel, before pushing him away completely.
      "I'm just tryin to help," Ezekiel said to the boy. But Sonny's eyes
had gone cold again. The glimmer of believe( that only a moment ago was
present in the boy's hazel eyes( had vanished.
      "I just want you to know that I understand," Ezekiel continued, "
... and that I'm as confused about all this as you are. I can't tell you
how this happened, or why this happened, ... all I know is that it did. You
know it. If you saw her, then you have to believe me. I need to know that
you believe me, Sonny-boy. Do you?"
      Sonny stared back at Ezekiel silently, but the chilly glare had
softened somewhat. He uttered a sigh of exasperation and began to
speak. "Oh man, this is some crazy shit," he mumbled.
      "Watch your mouth, boy," Ezekiel chided, " ... I'm still your
grandpa. I'm still," he paused for a moment and smiled before continuing, "
... I'm still your...`Speedy'."
      Sonny's eyes lost all of their frostiness when he heard the
endearment. Speedy was how he jokingly referred to the less than spry old
man. It was one more thing that the young man could not have known, unless
...
      "That's right, Speedy's still here. But he's much speedier now,"
Ezekiel said with a laugh. "I think I know why your grandma did all
this. She must have known that I couldn't take care of you the way that I
should. I was too old," he looked down at his new body, " ... but now,
... I can do anything, anything I want. Yeah, that must be it. What do you
think?"
      Sonny perused Ezekiel's new face, becoming more and more familiar
with it by the second. This young man was Speedy. The wrinkles were gone,
along with all the signs of age and experience; but yet, the face was
clearly the same.
      "I think I'm hungry."
      "Oh, ... OK, let's eat then. That's what we'll do, we'll eat and then
try to figure all this out."
      The pair headed off to the kitchen toward the delightful aroma of
fried chicken. Ezekiel put an arm around his grandson's shoulder. Sonny did
not resist.